What A Wondrous World
by curlylinguist
Summary: When 8 year old Sherlock finds out he's a squib, his whole world is turned upside down. Kidlock.


**Notes****: I own absolutely zilch. It all obviously belongs to JKR, the BBC, ACD and Mofftiss etc. Currently unbetaed. If any of Sherlock or Mycroft's actions seem out of character, this is fully intended. I want to focus on their character development over time. My personal headcanon is that as kids Sherlock worshipped the ground Mycroft walked on and looked up to him very much, due to their intellectual similarities. However this changed after certain events as they grew older. This is my Potterlock version of those events… Enjoy! And please review, I don't think I need to tell you how much comments mean to me.**

**Chapter 1:**

The platform lay veiled in smoke and steam. Sherlock could only just make out the silhouette of his mother in front of him as she weaved purposefully through the faceless crowd. He tightened his grip on her hand, terrified he would get lost in the endless sea of bustling people, screeching animals and thick smoke. He didn't like it. His eyes were watering, the funny smells of animal droppings and soot made him cough and there were too many strange people pushing at him to get past. He didn't like it at all. He hoped Daddy and Mycroft weren't too much further ahead. He didn't want to lose them. It was important to say goodbye, he knew. Sherlock had to make sure Myc remembered his promise. He rubbed at his eyes with a tiny, porcelain fist, trying once again to stop the tears that had been threatening all morning as he let his mother pull him through the crowd.

By the time he opened his eyes again properly, the smoke was receding and the horde of people had thinned. He let out a sharp gasp as he found himself staring, wide eyed, at the enormous scarlet steam engine before him. Sherlock didn't understand. Why did Mycroft need to get on this funny train? Surely he could just Floo to his new school! Especially considering all the fascinating books and equipment he had packed in his trunk. He could do anything, couldn't he?

Eventually he was forced to drag his eyes away from the gleaming red paint, the golden letters spelling out _HOGWARTS EXPRESS_, the two filthy men stoking the fire at the helm and give up his attempts at analysis as Mummy scooped him up into her arms. Under any other circumstance, Sherlock would have violently protested at being thus manhandled – _he was four years old, thank you very much, Mummy! _– however the extra height meant that he was finally able to pick out his father and brother standing just to the side of a carriage door approximately half way down the train. Mummy smiled knowingly at him as he huffed his disgruntlement into her neck and permitted her to continue holding him as she made her way through the throng. Sherlock rested his head on her shoulder and fiddled with the brown leather strap of her handbag.

"Mummy?" he whispered softly in her ear, "Why can't I go with Mycroft?"

"Oh, Sherlock, darling, we've discussed this, remember? You're too little to go to school. Your magic hasn't manifested itself yet and you barely know how to read and write. You'll be able to go when you're ready, just like your brother, I promise." She smiled down at him again, pausing to shift his weight, before pushing through a gaggle of red-headed boys with a coolly polite - "Excuse me!" - thrown in the general direction of their mother.

"Why can't Mycroft wait until I'm old enough to go with him?" Sherlock whined.

His mother smiled gently down at him. He fidgeted crossly back, threatening imminent escape unless she complied with his wishes. She parried with a single fierce glare. _William Sherlock Scott Holmes, don't you dare… _He stopped at once, subdued.

"Don't be silly, Sherlock," she said, "By the time you're big enough, Mycroft would be far too old to go! You'll see your brother at Christmas and I'm sure he'll be able to tell you all about it then."

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort and tell her exactly what Mycroft had promised when he got back for Christmas, but thought better of it and closed it again. After all, Myc had said it had to be _their_ secret. He thought back to the previous week when Daddy had discovered him in the airing cupboard upstairs reading his brother's brand new copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger _and the fifteen mind-numbingly dull minutes he had had to spend on the naughty step as a result. _'Magic is not for little boys, Sherlock! It's dangerous! You have to wait until you're bigger!' _Mummy and Daddy were so mean; they never let Sherlock have any fun…

He was pulled abruptly from his thoughts as his mother set him down on the grey concrete platform next to the large trolley holding Mycroft's trunk and large tawny owl, Aquila. Why was Mycroft allowed to take a pet, but not his brother? Scowling, Sherlock poked her through the bars of her cage, making her squawk loudly and indignantly ruffle her feathers at him from her perch on the huge navy trunk. Sherlock stuck his tongue out at her and giggled as she snapped her beak back at him sharply in reply. Daddy ruffled his hair as he passed, moving to lift the luggage onto the train.

"Don't tease her, Sherlock," He reprimanded fondly, "Otherwise she won't bring you any letters from Mycroft."

Sherlock's mouth fell open and he gasped, finding himself inexplicably blinking back unwelcome tears. Crying is for babies. He reached out for the cage Daddy had placed on the floor beside him.

"I'm sorry, Aquila! Please, please, please bring me lots of letters!" he choked out.

The owl scrutinised him disdainfully. Sherlock felt a hot tear roll down his cheek, which he flicked away angrily, before he felt his big brother's hand firm on his shoulder. Sherlock hadn't noticed that he'd finally managed to disentangle himself from Mummy and her silly fussing. He looked relived.

"Give her this, Sherlock." Mycroft placed an owl treat in the centre of his palm, "To gain your trust. Owls are very intelligent and proud; it's important to respect them."

Sherlock held the treat through the bars where it was promptly snapped up with a low hoot of thanks. Sherlock beamed, before turning and flinging his arms around his brother's knobbly knees.

"Promise you'll write me letters, Mycroft! It'll be so exciting and not boring at all and I need to know everything that happens to you and everything you learn for my 'speriments and I don't want you to go!" Sherlock admitted, words mumbled into the fabric of Mycroft's robes, barely stopping for breath.

Mycroft visibly stiffened, at a complete loss as to how to react to such an unequivocal display of sentiment. After a moment, he awkwardly carded a hand through Sherlock's unruly curls, his expression softening fractionally. Gently, he disentangled the small boy's hands from around his knees, bending the latter in order to speak to his brother at eye level. Before he could utter a single word however, Sherlock had once again flung his arms around Mycroft's shoulders, gripping him in a tight hug and shocking them both. There was a frozen moment of shocked contemplation, before Mycroft submitted and hugged his baby brother back, just as tightly. And if there was a soft "I'll miss you too, Sherlock…" muffled by dark curls, neither brother acknowledged it.

They didn't break apart until Mummy placed a gentle hand on Mycroft's shoulder, softly reminding him that it was less than three minutes to eleven. Almost reluctantly, Mycroft straightened up, brushing off his uniform to compose himself, before he was pulled into yet another of Mummy's firm embraces. Sherlock's lip was trembling in his effort not to cry as he stood by them, watching as Mummy talked very fast into Mycroft's ear. The platform was too noisy for him to hear anything she was saying, but he could deduce it was something very important. To do with Mycroft's new school, most likely. Although Mummy did keep glancing down at him. It was hard to read her expression though, observing his brother was far more important.

After Mummy, it was Daddy's turn to say goodbye. Their embrace was much shorter and gruffer; Daddy had never been as emotional as Mummy, especially not in public. Yet he too, muttered something into Mycroft's ear as they were parting. Mycroft looked decidedly more comfortable to have got the dreaded hugging out of the way. Sherlock didn't blame him at all. Although, just one more cuddle for him might have been nice.

The whistle blew. Sherlock looked around in alarm, before a small smile from Daddy told him it simply signalled the train's departure. Sherlock allowed himself to be lifted up by Mummy once more as Mycroft swiftly boarded the train. The eleven year old glanced back at his family through the crowded platform for the final time, noting the same sad smiles lingering on all three faces, before firmly turning and walking down the carriage to find his seat. The train started to move. Sherlock decided the steam and the noises and smells were all utterly fascinating. He wanted to know how the train worked. It didn't look like magic; he had seen the driver and fireman standing at the front earlier.

Some of the students were leaning out of windows to wave goodbye, Sherlock could see. He looked eagerly down the carriage for a last glimpse of his brother.

"There's no point, Sherlock," Mummy said gently, smoothing a hand over his hair, "Your brother's never approved of public displays of affection. He'll want to sit quietly now. Hopefully make some friends…"

The Holmes family watched as the train pulled steadily out of the station. They watched alongside every other parent until it was no more than a speck in the distance. Some of the families around them, mostly the ones with crying children, were starting to leave. Sherlock touched the damp tear track on his mother's cheek, confused.

"Mummy, why are you crying? Myc's gone now. And grown-ups aren't s'posed to cry."

His Mummy gave no answer. It looked to Sherlock as though she hadn't even realised he was speaking to her as she continued to stare into the distance with unfocused eyes. Another tear fell, unacknowledged. Sherlock didn't know what to do. He was still firmly wedged against her hip and was in no danger of falling. Apart from the occasional tear, it was as though she had simply frozen in place.

Daddy placed a soothing hand on her arm and Sherlock watched wide eyed as he began to rub small circles there with his thumb.

"He'll be fine, Violet, it's alright."

Sherlock watched in fascination as Mummy gave a sharp intake of breath at his voice and promptly pulled herself back together as her eyes locked with Daddy's. Her husband wiped his thumb across her damp cheek, his palm lingering.

Oh, no.

Sherlock very much hoped they weren't going to start kissing or do something equally as disgusting. He was right here, thank you very much! And he could already see the funny looks they were getting from passers-by.

He struggled against his mother's grip on him, noisily demanding to be put down immediately. She only held on tighter, refusing to drop him. Daddy winked at him, before taking Mummy's hand and gripping tight to Sherlock's own arm, and then with a loud _CRACK _– which barely even caused any of the last few surrounding families to flinch - the three remaining Holmes had disappeared from the platform.

**Please review! Hope you enjoyed it.**


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